


BlackHawk Down

by LittleAsian



Series: Marvel Jams [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, original character - Fandom
Genre: Danger, F/M, Fanfic, Love, Original Character - Freeform, sin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-09-02 15:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8672740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleAsian/pseuds/LittleAsian
Summary: This is the story of Harper Dawson, code name BlackCat, who was accepted into SHIELD after several years of being a thief and mercenary.  Perhaps breaking into Stark Tower wasn't the best first impression possible, but she's making up for it as she goes.  Tensions rise having a new assassin on the team. What will Clint Barton do when his two teammates seem to be hellbent against each other?





	1. Chapter 1

I was born Harper Elizabeth Dawson, daughter of Irish immigrants Raegan and Alfrid Dawson. My parents lived in Ireland before my mother became pregnant. Then they pooled what meager amount of money they had and made the journey to the United States. They weren't wealthy in Ireland, and were even less so in America. Of course, neither officially became residents of the United States, and therefor could only work particular jobs, none of which really brought home the bacon.

I was born on a cold December night in New York City, at a hospital with a mother who named herself "Jane Doe." I was given my ridiculously oldfashioned name as my curly red baby locks were brushed, and we left the hospital as quickly as we had arrived, not that I remember any of this. But if I do know one thing,it's that I wasn't born special. I didn't have "gifts," I wasn't an inhuman. I was just a normal, colicky baby who cried until her vocal cords were strained, and who grew up learning to walk on perpetually dirty carpet floors, and then learning to run in back alleys. Those alleys were my domain when I was young, and I mastered them with ease. Things only got better when my mother scraped together the money to put me into gymnastics classes. She had taken her own form of them back in Ireland when she was a youth, and wanted me to do the same. And I loved it. The power I could feel in my muscles, the way the flexed, sprang, transformed, for each of the moves, it was absolutely perfect. I brought my acrobatics skills to the streets, melding them with the fire escapes and dumpsters where I ran free. And it was all amazing, until after ten years of the practice, when I was an arrogant little shit of a fourteen year old, I was kicked out of gymnastics. I was too much of a handful. I would talk back, do things without a spotter, and generally be a showoff. (I feel like this is a common theme for fourteen year olds, no?) The instructors, who I felt as if I could surpass (and occasionally did) were sick of my behavior, and informed my mother that I was no longer welcome.

My mother was so disappointed with me. I still can remember the look on her face, when she just didn't know what to say. All she could do was shake her head, and press three fingers gently to her lips. To make matters worse, my mother found out that my father had been having an affair. If one looked at the details, the time frame, how often he was gone, it made a lot of sense. The split was bad, the marriage went down in flames, destroying all family bonds along with it. Created a lot of daddy issues for me, and trust issues to the max. I guess that only prepared me for the future.

And then my mother turned to drugs. The high she obtained was the only sweet release from the anguish she was experiencing. But I never expected to come home to her cold body, murdered by her own drug addiction. She had been captured by the hands of the white gods. So I did what I always do: I ran, never turning back. I don't know what happened to her body, and I don't want to. The alleyways could go on forever as far as I was concerned. I lived on the streets for a while, learning the art of pickpocketing and when all else failed, running like hell far and fast. It was when I was running that I got caught up in the wrong crowd.

At the time, a gang seemed like a beautiful, family structure. People to take care of you, and have your back, at all times. So when I was offered membership, it seemed like a way out of the constant running, the constant hiding, the sleeping in dumpsters and under cars. It seemed like my perfect escape. A place where I could finally, finally, maybe relax. Sleep. Sleep without holding a knife. They didn't care who you were, where you came from, just that you did what the ringleader wanted. And oh, did I ever.

I was one of their best thieves, what with my tiny body and gymnastics abilities. Plus no one ever expects the innocent little redheaded girl. And while I could spend time continuing to hone my agility and gym skills, I spent the majority of it learning to fight. Boxing, knives, you name it. While I loved the adrenaline rush this new life brought to me, thieving just didn't seem...the right fit. I was sure I could do more, that I had better talents. Thieving seemed simple, petty. The rush that picking a pocket used to provide faded and like a junkie I needed a new source. I wanted more.

So I convinced one of my "brothers" to teach me hacking. It was fun to me, almost like a game. It was important to pick the right path, the right series of numbers. Like a more advanced version of minesweeper, and god were the rewards sweet. I practiced with him, I fell in love with him, and we robbed political leaders blind via the internet together. It was your typical love story, really. We stole from Trump and donated to worthy endeavors, keeping some of the profits for ourselves and the rest of our team. There was no better feeling than making him proud. I knew I was leaning too heavily on him, feeling too safe, but I couldn't stop. 

Little did I know, it was all a ruse. I was 18 when things really changed. There was a switch, like someone turned off the lights. It was a bad month to begin with. I had accidentally killed a fellow gang member in a street fight. And let me tell you, I felt awful for it. But no amount of repentance seemed to make things better. Tensions were high and everything felt...off. Break into the Cryogenics lab, they told me, steal us some cool tech. They've gotta have some baller fucking weapons, they said. And, annoyingly, even though I didn't really want to, I went along with it. I needed to, to keep my place with my 'family.' In my complete black attire, I did my thing, hacking into the alarm systems, and then slipping in through the ventilation systems. It was easier than I thought, breaking into that place. CryGen was the name of the lab, working on the latest technology, although most of their projects were kept secret. Not for long.

It was simple enough, really. Their system was far less complicated than what I had been looking into recently--Stark Enterprises. Compared to that, this was nothing. I was in and moving throughout the lab when things went sour. I had the tech my "friends" had wanted, the weapons that would make things right between us, and I was climbing back through the vents when the vent broke. Perhaps it was the age, the stress of the bolts, but I fucking fell, crashing into test tubes and vials. Crushing glass, liquids seeping into my fair skin. I freaked the fuck out, honestly. What the fuck had I fallen in, what was in me? Everything seemed ok, I felt no pain, nothing out of place. With what dignity I had left, I got up and climbed back into the vents, getting the hell out of there, vowing to never breath a word about what had happened in there. I wanted to forget the entire thing, and let things get back to normal. Or, at the very least, as close to normal as my life every got.

It was a month later when I noticed the changes. They were subtle at first. Faster reaction times. Whenever I fell, I would land on her feet. And then the night vision came. I could see in the dark. My senses, they all increased. My nails grew to sharpened points, and I had to file them all the time to keep them short. Curious, and worried, I hacked back into the CryGen's computer system, looking into what I had fallen into. The program had been compromised, obviously that was my fault. But what they had been researching..that was far more intriguing. The lab had been researching the DNA of several feral cats, seeing how they could improve combat skills by injecting a serum into soldiers. And this serum..it was in me. 

It took me a few weeks to come to terms with what happened. And then I realized her full potential--not doing petty crimes with some tiny, silly, New York gang. I could do far better than that. I began selling my skills. Initially, I was just a hand for hire. I would do what needed to be done, I would break into buildings, steal whatever needed. I went by the name BlackCat, and the name soon became well known on the streets. I was 20 when I was hired to kill my first victim. It was...surprisingly easier than I imagined, in the moment of things. I had a talent for it, as unfortunately disturbing as that sounds. And that kind of talent...well...it doesn't go unnoticed.


	2. Chapter 2

After a year of infamy, of being a 20 year old assassin and hand for hire, of being hunted by SHIELD, I was approached by a group. A group of all women, calling themselves The Seven Deadly Sins, and each embodied their own sin. They seemed pretty badass honestly, in my innocence. A group of all women, with powers somewhat like mine, doing what I already did, all as one big group? It seemed nice. And they wanted me to join.

They had recently lost one of their seven, Wrath, and they needed me to take the position and complete the circle once more. I accepted their offer, and that's when my real training began. It started with the rituals. The first round of rituals to make me become Wrath failed. According to Gluttony, the spirit of the cat-beast inside me was fighting back against the ancient, Chinese rituals that would have put the powers of Wrath inside of me. It wasn't often they had a new initiate who already had powers of her own. Pride and I spent many an hour looking over ancient texts searching for an answer. And we found one, a blood ritual, binding the Wrath spirit to the beast spirit, allowing them to share the same vessel until death, or until a counteracting ritual was performed. 

And so I became her. The blood of my own and the blood of an innocent were shed to embed Wrath inside my body. It was painful, like fire rippling through my veins. It's not a feeling I would recommend, to anyone, ever. I was 21 and I was a Sin, fueled by pure anger and hatred. The anger of others around me gave me more strength. For seven years, I was on a rampage. The Sins themselves could hardly control me. I cannot fathom how many lives were lost at my own hands, over petty things like famous works of art, and diamonds, and fancy weaponry. The dreams of screams and blood and faces of terror haunt my dreams to this day, forcing me to wake up in a sweat, unsure of where or when I am, of whose blood might be on my hands at that very moment. 

And when I was 28, snapped out of it. A man...one of the many...who was slaughtered at my hands, looked so much like my father that I was forcibly jolted back to my senses, shaking and staring at my hands, my hands drenched in sticky, wet blood. And I ran. 

One more life had to be taken at my hands, just one more, to free myself from the bond with Wrath. I could feel her, growing in me, trying to swallow whatever feral cat beast lived inside my body as well. The blood ritual had to be reversed. So I killed, one more time, to get that wretched curse out of me. And the Sins...well...they weren't all too pleased. I needed an escape, whether it be a safehouse, or to be finally captured. And if I was going out, it was going to be with a bang. 

When Tony Stark started making the news on a repetitive basis, I knew the best way out of this predicament. I was going to break into Stark Tower.


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't as if I went in guns blazing just to prove I could do it. I knew I had to get far enough to meet the man himself, elsewise I would just wind up in some cheap prison where the remainder of the Seven could easily get to me. And if they could get to me, I was as good as dead. If I could get to him, to Mr. Tony Fucking Stark, he would make sure I was locked away somewhere so damn deep not a soul would find me. Or maybe he would just straight up kill me. Either option was equally desirable. Well, for me at least.

But the Cat, inside me, she wasn't pleased with my idea. I could tell that much for sure. She wanted to be let free again, too feel blood on fangs and under nails. And I couldn't have that. Yet, I could feel her boiling beneath my skin, ready to strike the second I let defenses down. 

So I focused all my time into reading, researching, developing, practicing. I built trial runs, of the computer layout at least. I planned it to as much detail as I could and practiced the hacking over and over until I could make a mistake, till I had each detail measured down to a T. All I had left to do was to attempt the real thing. Break in, hack the shit out of him, steal funds if I could, weapons, get myself an offshore island with ridiculous fortifications so that the Seven could never find me. Or die trying. Or come as close to dead as I could. 

It was hard to explain to anyone who had not met the Seven why I was so scared. Those who had seen us, back when I was with them, they understood. They understood what it was like to hear the creak of a door and be in a hellish panic. They understood what it was like to live in fear. But they didn't have what I have. They couldn't hear every sound for blocks around them, smell the scent of people moving closer. I could. I could feel it all, and I was terrified. It was the kind of fear that made it difficult to sleep at all, for I was always waking at the slightest movement. It was the kind of fear that made you take busy streets so that no one would be able to hurt you without many, many witnesses. It was the kind of fear that made you almost consider contacting the authorities, if it weren't for the knowledge that you had a hit out on your still. I almost did it, a few times. Turned myself in. Almost. 

But I never could.

 

So I got ready to break in. There was a night when I knew it had to happen. I could feel them close, feel the cat inside of me growing anxious, scared herself. So I dawned my black apparel, the clothes I used to wear. Black leggings with side pockets, like tight cargo pants, and a zip up, flexible leather jacket with a soft hood that could cover most of my face if need be. Black shoes I had stolen, the kind made for streetrunning. I pulled my redbrown hair into a high ponytail and then took to my face. BlackCat was coming back.

I drew cat's eye eyeliner, ironically, with a smirk. And then shade black around my eyes almost like a mask. I looked in the mirror, pleased with myself. Pleased enough that for a moment I could forget the curling anxiety in my stomach. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stark Tower wasn't the beaming relic you probably know it as today. But it was a tower, nonetheless, fully prepared for my assault upon it. It was where Stark Industries was run, the place where Tony threw all his parties. It didn't have his name upon it yet in giant letters, but everyone knew. Everyone knew that place belonged to Tony Stark, the man in the iron suit. And so it was time to begin.

In a small, stolen van, I sat a block away, laptop out, already connecting to his server. I made my connection invisible, so that I wouldn't be detected until it was too late. I waited for a moment, finger hovering over the enter key, quivering slightly. This was it, the pivotal moment, the one which would change absolutely everything. With the slightest grin, I hit enter, and the virus leaked into his system. 

In a flash, I was out of the van, and sprinting towards the building. I would enter on the fourth floor, skipping three floors of security measures. I ran my nails over my palms, feeling their sharpness. I could feel the cat within me itching to scale that building. It would be easy. I could already see the different footholds, the places where I could hook my hands, every single location that would help me get to where I needed to go. And in the moment it took for me to map my path, I was performing it, Jumping upwards and grabbing the lip of a window, sliding to another ledge, moving upwards and upwards, ever climbing. 

When I reached the fourth level, I pulled out a phone from my pocket, tapping on the screen a few times until I heard the small 'click' of the window unlocking. With ease, I slid through the glass and closed it softly behind me, making sure it stayed unlocked in case I needed a quick escape. 

I moved swiftly down the halls, taking out cameras as I did so. When I made it to the elevator shaft, I pressed the 'Up' button. Of course, it wasn't going to be as easy as simply riding an elevator to the top floor, where I would hopefully come face to face with the man himself. When the elevator arrived, I stepped inside after shooting the camera, and did hit the button for the top floor. Jumping, I hit a panel on the ceiling of the elevator, dropping it open. With another jump, I grabbed the lip of the opening, pulling myself up and on top of the elevator. So far, so good. 

The elevator began to climb, but soon it was apparent something was wrong. I wasn't surprised, honestly I had figured it would have taken less time for Stark to realize was here. I was ahead of schedule. When the elevator jolted to a halt, though, it was just shy of where I wanted to be: A vent, located about ten feet above me. 

Sighing, I grabbed onto the ropes which suspended the metal box and began to pull myself up till I was level with the open vent. Bunching my muscles, I leaped, propelling myself forward and landing in the shaft with a thud, groaning. It wasn't as graceful as I had wanted, but it would have to do.

That was when Tony Stark's voice began to boom from all around me. "What's this Jarvis? It appears we have an unwelcome house guest." I looked around but couldn't find the source of the loud, cocky voice anywhere. Quickly, I scrambled to my hands and knees and began to crawl through the vent. I only had about a hundred feet to go before I could hop out in his main office. That's all I had to do. 

"Now," he continued, "Looks like we're playing a little game of cat and mouse. Although, I'm sure you're not used to playing the mouse...but, we all have to make adjustments." 

I had to put his words in the back of my head. The only thing I could focus on was getting to him, otherwise this would all be for nothing. I kept crawling, and crawling. 

"Come out come out, wherever you are," He said in a singsong voice, and the vent around me began to grow hot. When I reached the vent, I slammed it with my feet, tumbling out. It wasn't graceful, or pretty, or gave any sort of sense of my assassin skills. Yet, I landed on my feet, as I always did. The cat, she took care of me. 

And when I looked up, there he was. Tony Stark himself, one eyebrow raised, arms crossed in a lovely navy suit, Armani probably. He spelled of whiskey and Old Spice, a warm scent, the kind that probably drew most women to him. There was a slight smirk on his lips. "Well, well, well, what do we have here? What? Not going to introduce yourself? Cat got your tongue?"


	4. Chapter 4

In retrospect, perhaps it wasn't my brightest idea. When I sat, zip tied to a chair, hands behind my back, I realized this. Too little, too late. Tony Stark sat in front of me, kneeling slightly forward, two fingers pressed to his lips in contemplation. He looked how I felt--tired, and slightly frustrated. Given the state of things in front of me, I wasn't entirely disappointed. I had made it to him after all. It had all progressed much faster than I had wanted, but the end result was the same. Here I was, after having gained entrance to Stark himself. I would probably be sent away, somewhere deep and locked up. Somewhere agencies like SHIELD loved to put people like me. And then I would be safe. 

No one told me you couldn't be locked away from your memories. 

 

"So, Miss....what shall I call you? I can't quite just call you BlackCat," Tony mused, cocking his head lightly to the left. He eyed me inquisitively, waiting for me to answer the deliberate question. "I mean, I can't exactly go around calling you Wrath either, clearly you quit that job a little bit ago. Get too bloody for you? Those girls really do like to raise hell."

I looked at the ground, at my stolen, black combat boots, before muttering, "It's Dawson. Harper Dawson." I looked up at him, watching, waiting to see his reaction when he finally got to put a name to a face. That was one thing they had never known about me, my name. I had been a nobody before, and even under aliases, I was still nobody. No one was left to know me by name, except for my conscious.

Tony clapped his hands together, the loud pop echoing throughout the quiet room. "Harper Dawson! Finally!" He let out a laugh, "You know, it's funny. All those years ago when you first started popping up, I had some people look into you, and no one could find a name. And now you've brought me the answer to one problem I just. Couldn't. Solve." 

"Glad I could be of service," I replied dryly. Perhaps, the more I irritated him, the further deep I could be buried. A life of solitude and isolation would be better than no life at all. 

He raised one, apparently finely waxed, eyebrow at me, before leaning back against his black office chair. "All tied up, and still have an attitude. I like that," he mused, before saying out loud, "Jarvis, please have to glasses of whiskey sent to my office." A British voice replied quickly in affirmation. "So," Tony said, glancing at his wrist watch, "Harper Dawson. I've backtracked every move you made to get in here, and let me say....I'm impressed. Half of the techs working for my company can't do what you do." 

I shrugged, "I had good teachers, who had good motivations." 

He nodded at this, not entirely sure what to make of this. "Well, they were very good teachers indeed...now. I already know how. What I really want to know, is why? Fame, fortune, all the glory? Why break into my lab, of all places?" 

I was slightly surprised, and it must have shown on my face for Stark let out a low chuckle. I hadn't been expected to explain why I had done what I had done. It didn't really matter, did it? Apparently to Tony Stark, it did. 

I stared flatly at him for a moment, contemplating telling the truth, or making a grand lie. Would it make a difference? Maybe, maybe not. "Protection," I replied finally, waiting for his reaction. He simply raised an eyebrow once more, as if asking for further details. "The Sins....they're not too pleased with me right now. I'm tired, of running, hiding. I figured if I could get all the way up to the iron man himself, I would be put away. A place where they couldn't get to me anymore." 

"Now that." Tony said, getting up when there was a quiet knock on the door, and returning with two glasses of whiskey. "Is quite interesting." He took a sip out of his glass before setting both on the table. "Hm. Suppose you can't quite drink like that, with your hands all bound. Well, nevertheless, it's the thought that counts right?" I fought rolling my eyes. "Now, as I was saying. Interesting. So you figured SHIELD would lock you up far, far away and you would be worry free for the rest of your nine lives?" 

"More or less, yes," I replied, ignoring the cat joke. The cat inside me wasn't a fan, but I ignored her, too. 

"What if I had a...better proposition?" Stark asked, studying me like I was under a microscope. 

"What sort of proposition?" I asked, intrigued.

"Work for me. As a tech. Teach those sad excuses for lab technicians how to actually work with computers." Tony suggested, taking another sip of liquor. "In trade, I'll never tell SHIELD this happened, but also offer you round the clock protection. All paid for, of course." 

As I opened my mouth to reply, the door from outside was suddenly thrown open. A beautiful woman, with hair as red as my own, and a man with a sharp jaw, and spiked, sandy hair stood in the doorway. 

"Speaking of people who are employed here...this is my secretary, and a business partner," Stark began, "Not quite sure what they're doing here, of all places..."

The woman cut him off. "Stark, we're dropping the act. Agents of SHIELD, Romanoff, Barton. And your tower is under attack by a rogue cell. Right now." 

I looked up at them, locking eyes with the man before taring my gaze away, cheeks red, and looked back to Stark.

He stood up, dusting off his pants. "So, Harper Dawson," he turned to me, flicking out a pocket knife. "Sound more intriguing than staying in a cell?" 

Without hesitation, I said yes.


	5. Chapter 5

Tony sliced her arm restraints free with one, swift movement. "Lets put all of your skills to the test tonight, shall we?" 

"Bringing in a civilian, Tony, really?" the red head, Agent Romanoff, questioned, clearly irritated. She didn't have the time to be watching someone during the type of firefight that was about to ensue. 

"Harper, I apologize for her rudeness. This is Agent Natasha Romanoff...who apparently has been undercover in my office for weeks now." There was clear irritation in Tony's voice. "Even though I specifically told SHIELD. No guards. Anyways, Agent Romanoff, meet Harper Dawson....better known as BlackCat." 

The eyes of both of the SHIELD agents in front of them widened. "So you're bringing a mercenary into this?" The man asked, eyeing me up and down. 

"I'm not a mercenary. Or a hand for hire or whatever. I work for Tony, now, so let's just get this show on the road." I replied, crossing my arms over my chest.

The man turned to look at Tony, and I couldn't help but notice that his eyes, despite his clenched jaw and rugged face, looked soft, and kind. They were storm grey, like the clouds that had rolled above New York earlier that week. And he smelled good. Like fresh rain, and leather, and a tiny bit like cinnamon. "There is a cell of actual mercenaries, hired by a Russian mobster. They want your tech, and they want it now. They look like they might be enhanced." 

"Well, good thing we've got an enhanced partner on our team now." Tony put his arm around me, resting his hand on my shoulder. Quickly, I removed it, thrusting his hand back towards him. 

Once more, the gaze of both agents flicked over to me, dismissively. 

"Oh come on now," Tony whined, "don't be like that. Let's see what my new toy can do." 

"Not your toy," I pointed out, but he didn't seem to be listening. He was busy striding over to his closet, which he opened with a scan of his hand. When the doors slid back, his Iron Man suit was revealed, shining red and gold. 

Moments later, the four of us were riding down the worlds slowest elevators, in what was one of the most awkward moments of my life. Natasha Romanoff had changed into a suit quite like my own, although her's was of far higher quality. Agent Barton, whose first name I had found to be Clint, had also changed into black army-like pants and a tight fitted black shirt, He had a bow and quiver slung over his back, and dawned fingerless gloves. And Tony, of course, had changed into his iron suit. Elevator music played softly in the background. 

I could feel eyes on me, and I turned to my left, looking at Barton in the eye. Hawkeye. That's what SHIELD had known him as, the assassin who was deadly with a bow. "What are you looking at, bird boy?" I quipped, my sarcastic side slipping out, out of habit. His cheeks turned pink in a pleasing way that made me smirk.

"Just watching my back," He replied back with a roll of his eyes. 

"You don't have to watch your back, I'm not going to try and fight you," I replied turning to face him, raising an eyebrow. "Although I don't blame a bird for being afraid of a cat." 

"So the rumours are true?" he asked, not meeting her gaze. Instead, he fidgeted with his gloves, undoing and redoing the straps. 

"Depends on what the rumours are," I replied with a shrug. While it was apparent that everyone else in the small cube was also listening to our conversation, it felt like this conversation was just between us. 

"That you've got some sort of....genetic enhancements," he replied, not sure how to phrase the words delicately. 

I sighed and slid carefully till I was standing toe to toe with him, hands on my hips. "I don't know what 'rumours' you're hearing, but I'm not 'enhanced.' This wasn't by choice. Well...besides the remnants of Wrath, but thats a story for a different day. I fell into some test tubes. I absorbed some DNA. Not my choice. The cat thing in me, whatever she is, is not my choice. And if you have a problem with that, Agent Barton, I will gladly take this outside." 

He looked down his nose at me, having about at least 4 inches of height on me, and started laughing. "You know, Harper. Agent Dawson? You're cute when you're angry."


	6. Chapter 6

I had been in a lot of fights before, but it was different having a team, having someone to have my back. Having someone to provide cover while I did my thing, upping my speed and flexibility to its peak, flipping over tables, dogging bullets in bends that would seem inhuman. I supposed, they were. Barton was right, I was enhanced. Just not the way most people become enhanced. And yet, it was nice nonetheless. Barton covered my ass like he'd been doing it all his life. 

Didn't seem his partner was too keen about it, though. 

The cell of soldiers in front of us had some sort of highpowered tech they wore on their arms like guns. They were here for Tony's tech, and blueprints. Anything they could find which would help them build their army to larger, and stronger, numbers. "Kill or detain?" Natasha, the red head, had asked Tony before the shitstorm began. 

"Doesn't matter to me," Tony replied with a shrug, "As long as you're gone, and they're gone, when this is all done. I was in the middle of a business deal that I would like to return to." I couldn't help but roll my eyes. 

The bullets and high voltage electricity shots began flying the second the elevator slid open. Barton and I slid behind one upended table for cover inside the Lab, Natasha and Tony behind another on the other side of the room. "Nat, you flank left we got right," Barton called out.

"Affirmative," She called back, pulling out two Glock pistols hidden beneath the waistband of her black pants and began firing over the desk at the men spread throughout the large lab. "Four snipers above." 

Barton pulled out his bow and cocked an arrow in the same time that I snapped two knives out of my belt, flung them, and buried them into the chests of two of the snipers. Barton faulted for a second, before firing arrows at the other two. "That was impressive. Where'd you learn that?" 

"The streets," I replied, "And the Seven. You learn or you die, type of thing." I cracked a grin, and it took a second, but Barton smiled back.

"That's the kind of skill we could use in SHIELD, you know," Barton said, firing off another arrow as I boomeranged a knife towards another soldier. "What are you doing working for Stark instead?" 

"You honestly think," I began, before hopping over the desk, sprinting forward at an inhuman speed, and slashing my sharp nails across the gun/arm of a soldier, then grabbing him, and throwing him into another. Ducking and rolling, I made it back to the desk. "That SHIELD would want me at all, much less protect me? Because I find that hard to believe." 

Barton nodded towards Romanoff. "They made a different call with her.Ex-Russian assassin. Works for us now." I quirked an eyebrow at this. "SHIELD is a lot more accepting than you'd think. Of course you would need to be vetted first."

"Vetted?" I asked with a light laugh, throwing another blade. "Telling a cat she needs to be vetted, clever. What are you going to say next, that you'd take me under your wing?" 

"Only if you would to be taught like a bird brain like me," he replied, firing a flurry of arrows. 

"Oh I would be honoured, Hawkeye, if you can convince SHIELD to take me in," I replied with a grin. Something about this conversation felt promising. I could make up for everything I had done by helping others, and still be protected. Be safe. As long as I was safe, did it really matter where I ended up? Not to me. 

"They owe me a few favours, I think I could call in." He said with a shrug. "I'll make it happen, BlackCat, if you're down."

"I'm in," I replied with a quick nod. Something about his smile made my stomach flutter. "Now watch my back, please." Once more, I was flipping over the table and tearing through the room. My goal was do as least life-threatening damage as possible. A knockout here, a broken collarbone there. In minutes, the room was quiet, just the four of us remaining. I dropped to the ground, breathing deeply. Looking down at my hands, the blood on my nails shocked me. 

Here I was, working for the right team, and yet still there was blood on my hands.


	7. Chapter 7

To say Tony Stark was displeased with Clint's meddling in his plan was the understatement of the year. He was livid, although he didn't let it show while we were still around. I could tell, though, from the clench of his jaw, the was he held his body. And it made me want to laugh. 

"Don't pout," I said with a toothy grin, "I'm sure you'll be seeing me around, now that we're on the same side." 

"Are we?" He asked, letting the question sink in the open air. To Tony, often it was either you were right with him, or you were against him. A trait he had been forced to learn once his friends started becoming enemies and the money started rolling in. I couldn't really blame him, I wasn't much for trusting either.

I placed my hand on his upper arm before leaving, looking him in the eye. "Tony, I owe you. And I mean that. You gave me a shot at a newer, safer life. And if SHIELD doesn't pan out, I hope our offer still stands. But if SHIELD does prove a good fit, I still owe you a favour. Any time, any where, you call me and I'll come." 

"So," Clint said, sitting next to me in the small jet (he had called it something with a "q" but I couldn't for the life of me remember what) "This flight is going to be super quick, Stark Tower isn't too far from HQ. We're going to...meet the big boss, then we'll figure it out from there. Just don't pull any crazy stuff on me."

"Crazy stuff?" I questioned with a cock of my head to the side, a small grin slipping over my lips, "Whatever could you mean?"

"Psh, you know what I mean," Clint shook his head, looking out the window. "No running off, keep the smart remarks to a minimum till we have you cleared. If anyone tries any shit on you, thats what I'm here for. Just keep your head down as much as possible."

"Let the SHIELD lackies throw their tomatoes, got it." I replied dryly. I found it very hard to believe I'd be able to just _let_ these agents who knew nothing about my life ridicule me and act as if they knew every last detail. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing up already. 

"Hey now," Clint said, looking over at me sincerely, grabbing my small hand in his large, callused one. "Harper, I mean it. Think of me as your body guard. I know SHIELD is going to be this big scary new place, but I wont let anyone get to you. Thats my job." 

I looked down at his hand and then back up at him, blinking. There was something about him...his sincerity? His earnestness? That begged me to trust him. I couldnt help but comply. 

 

Shortly later, it really couldnt have been more than 20 minutes, tops, we were touching down on top of a roof pad on a skyscrapper in downtown New York. He wasnt kidding, it really was a short flight, unsurprisingly. The wind whipped around us on the rooftop as Clint and I followed a silent Natasha towards a set of double doors leading inside. It was clear she wasnt warming up to me any time soon. 

Inside, the building was calm and cool. I could feel the footsteps of agents milling about for several floors below me. Inhaling deeply, I caught the scent of a few different things...fresh paper, ink, coffee...blood. The smells flooded my senses with their onslaught and I had to fight back a sneeze. Clint noticed and chuckled to himself, earning a sharp glare. 

"What so funny?" I hissed at him, dropping my voice so no one would hear. 

"Oh nothing..." He grinned, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Its just interesting to see how you react to new things. My roommate in college came home with a cat once...and I know you're going to hate this but, I swear your actions were identical." 

His comment earned him a swift but light punch to the arm. 

It wasnt till we got to the cubicles that the whispers started. I wasnt exactly easy to miss, I had been on these guys radar for years now. I'm sure most of them had a comprehensive file tucked somewhere in their desks. Made me wonder how much Natasha and Clint knew about me before bringing me here. My nerves started to set in...what if they weren't really bringing me here for a vetting, but instead were..bringing me in? The great BlackCat, fooled by a soft smile and some nice eyes. I would be a laughing stock. 

Clint grabbed me by the arm, steering me close to him. "I know you can probably hear everything theyre saying right now, but I'm going to ask you to ignore it. Just focus on me. I'm not going anywhere, so you better not either. What can you pick up about me?" He asked, trying to distract me from their gossip and taunts. 

"You smell like cinnamon," I said softly, unsure of what else to say. "Cinnamon, fresh leather, and that smell that comes right after a summer storm. That good rain smell." 

There was a slight pink on his cheeks but he hid it with a grin. "Cinnamon, huh? Not sure where that comes from. The leather is these new gloves, and the rain is my shampoo. Never would have expected cinnamon." 

I shrugged, "Sometimes people just have a scent," I whispered back quietly as we stopped in front of a pair of large, double doors. 

Clint typed a short code into a keypad beside it and I could hear a locking mechanism undo itself from within. "Alrighty Harper, here we go," he said, winking at me, before opening the doors and ushering me into the office. 

There was one desk inside with one man, who sat in his chair, facing the windows. As Clint cleared his throat, the man spun around to face us, appraising me as he did so. Even sitting, he looked tall, looked like he had a presence. He was missing one eye, a black patch over it, a scar running jagged down his face. 

"Harper," Clint said as an introduction, "This is Director Fury, head of SHIELD."


End file.
